Hoping the Sun Will Feel Warm Again
by lowi
Summary: Because if you don't try, if you don't let go, and if you don't trust, it would be a much more violent world. -RoxanneLysander- for Kaye.


_A/N: Written for the __Pairing Requests__ thread at the __Next-Gen Fanatics__ forum. Requested by Kaye (__what stars are__) and also dedicated to her, because she's amazing and I love her. The pairing Roxanne/Lysander and the prompts; spine, bloom, whimsical, vines, and catastrophic, were given. Thanks to mew __(__mew-tsubaki__) for betareading!  
_

**Hoping the Sun Will Feel Warm Again**

When they just looked at each other, it was as though the world was on fire.

Or so Lysander thought. It was the way _he _saw it. And he knew Roxanne probably didn't feel the same. She just couldn't.

Because if she did, if she did want him as badly as he wanted her, she would never leave, would she?

She only played with him. He really meant nothing to her. _Nothing_. His thoughts screamed and echoed, swirled and twirled in his head, so fast, so loud; he couldn't shut them out.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head between his knees, exhausted. He knew he should leave; it was long after curfew and anyone could find him, exposed as he was in an empty corridor underneath a window from which moon beams shone in like glittering swords. But he couldn't leave, he hadn't enough power. He hadn't even enough power to button his shirt or smooth out his hair or wipe off the dark brown lipstick stains that were smeared on his cheeks, collarbone, and chest.

So he just sat there. And he had to have some extra special luck that night, because no one noticed the tall figure, curling up in a corner but not closing his eyes once all night.

:::

Morning came. He was of course drained. But he managed to rise from the floor when he sensed the castle and its inhabitants beginning to move about and wake up. Slowly, he walked in to the Great Hall, surveyed the Gryffindor table quickly, and luckily did not find her.

He took a seat next to Lucy, who sat alone, reading a book. "Hi," he greeted her quietly and grabbed a sandwich.

"Oh, hi, Lysander!" She looked up and gave him a wide smile, one so bright it felt as though it hurt his eyes. However, it quickly faded. "What happened to you?"

"What d'you mean?" he answered without looking at her.

"You look…a bit tired." She narrowed her eyes and, when he didn't respond, she continued, "Actually, you look as you've been mauled by something."

"It's nothing. I promise."

Lucy tilted her head a bit, and he regretted so much joining her. He knew it was irrelevant for him to be angry at her because she cared, but he couldn't help it.

"Sure, it's nothing. But okay, if you don't want to talk to me, that's fine," Lucy said and returned to her book. A faint blush spread on his cheeks.

"I'm sor—" he began, when Lucy suddenly lifted her head to look at someone behind him. He turned around, too, and _oh Merlin, _was it even possible? There she walked in, as dazzling as ever.

She gave him one long unfathomable look before sitting down next to him. "Good morning, guys!" she said cheerfully.

Lysander shifted a little in his seat. She just sat too close; they almost touched. He said nothing, but only nodded at her and continued gnawing his sandwich. He was so aware of himself, of his every move, of _her_ every move.

"Good morning, Rox!" Lucy answered and put her book away. "Don't bother talking to Lys, I think he's woken up on the wrong side or something."

She raised her eyebrows and gave him an inquiring look. "He has?"

Lysander met her gaze for a moment but looked quickly away. He didn't want to feel her penetrating eyes drilling into him, because he knew he would fall for it again. As he always did.

There just was something about Roxanne that made it impossible for him to stay away from her. Because he knew very well it was bound to end in disaster; it did every time. But the funny thing was, he was the only one who saw it. Roxanne simply didn't care. She got up and left him, and the next day she could come back as nothing had happened. She simply was that resilient.

"But, Lys, you were happy yesterday evening, weren't you?" she asked with a glint in her eyes, failing trying to be innocent by rather much.

"Wow!" Lucy interrupted. "I _don't_ want to hear what you guys did last night, thank you very much."

Roxanne smirked and put an arm around Lysander. A chill ran down his spine at her touch, and it felt so nice, so perfect being there. "You don't? Luce, sweetie, you can't say you don't want to hear when you are this old. After all, you're as old as my dear Lysander here, so I'd say you are of the age to be able to hear such things."

Lucy shook her head. "Rox, you're incredible."

"I know!" Roxanne said and smiled widely. Lysander sat there, dizzy, the arm around his shoulders not moving, her hip bumping into his; they sat so close to each other.

"Well, I've got to go now; you're coming, too, Lys?" Lucy asked as she rose after laughing a bit at Roxanne's antics.

"Sure," he said and got up quickly. As he climbed out from the bench, Roxanne's hand slung against his back, once again making him shudder. Why couldn't he just keep his head cold in situations like this? Why did he have to be affected by her, when he knew their relationship was catastrophic? And had always been?

::::

It had all begun when he was no more than thirteen. Roxanne, the girl with the hair that tangled itself, falling down her back like vines, the girl with the eyes that glinted whenever someone got too close, the girl that always would bite back—he couldn't help being interested in her.

Back then, he used to tell himself it was purely an academic vein in him that caused him to follow the other girl's every step, obey her every wink and order as though he were studying her as he would a rare specimen his parents had brought home. (But didn't he still do that?)

And when she had fully comprehended what he was doing, how obsessed he was with her, how enchanted he was by her, she had used it. Of course, what else could you expect?

She had gotten the attention she wanted, by having the two years younger—so out of limits—boyfriend. And he had gotten what he wanted: her hot kisses, her vivid eyes on him, and her warm hands in his. It hadn't mattered he was only that young, because Roxanne had told him how _it was all right, don't worry, it's just you and me_.

And he had believed in her, in her every word. Because the way she said it, the way her eyes pierced their way into his brain, there simply was no questioning it. Even today he could hear it resounding in his brain, even today he could sense how he wanted to believe it; _you and me against the world, Lys_.

So whenever she had let him down, whenever she had left him, he hadn't known what to do. He had just stayed and waited. Because she would come back, after a day, always with a bright smile, her hands so eager, her lips so tender and waiting for him, him, _him_, that he just welcomed her back as if nothing had happened.

And, the worst part was that he knew it. He knew what he was doing and he wasn't sure if Roxie really knew what _she_ was doing to him.

:::::

"There you are!" Roxanne's voice approached him, accompanied with thousands of _should I leave?_ _Just one more night? But is it not better to—_

"Where did you think I was?" was what he said instead as she sat down next to him.

"Well, in the common room, of course," she said as she grinned. "What are you doing out here, crazy boy? All on your own?"

Lysander smiled, leaning back and trying to order some of the thoughts that flared through his mind like thousands of arrows on fire. "Just thinking."

"Of what?" she asked silently and leaned so close he could smell the cherry blossom perfume he loved. "Of me?"

"Roxie…," he began, but then her lips were on his again, and it felt so good he forgot all of what he could possibly have wanted to say to her. Why would he want to speak, anyway? When he could have her soft lips on his, her fingers in his hair, and the heave of her body in his lap?

This was the only thing he could imagine; every picture of something else, something more, something different he once had wished for was erased from his mind and replaced with Roxanne. Where he had considered trying something else, breaking up and finding something truer, was now filled with the softness of the skin on her hipbone. Where he had considered that there might be someone else out there for him was now the touch of her long eyelashes against his cheeks. Where he had considered this was wrong was now a voice shouting _Roxanne is right_.

(And the most painful thing to admit was that he didn't regret any of it at all.)

:::::::

He had pulled her with him out to the Great Lake, because he had had enough. Though the waves moved whimsically, almost as though they couldn't give a care in the world that he was feeling awful, the clouds that hovered over them were about to burst, and Lysander thought they knew how he must feel. Too much inside him, too much that had to come out.

"Rox, I can't do this anymore."

She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. Lysander felt surprised that he was taller than her, and that he had missed the moment when it had happened. "Do what?"

She was awfully solemn, and he shuddered because of how different things were. He had known he had to be strong to do this, but he hadn't thought it would hurt this much and feel this wrong. "Be with you," he said in a small voice and refused to meet her eyes.

The surprise in her eyes was quickly hid by a mocking look, and Lysander realized this was the first time he was the one in command. Never before he had said anything about them; he had listened to Roxanne's every whim and impulse and simply lived by her rules. "Aw, Lysander," she began in a voice she had never used with him before, a voice which caused his stomach to jolt unpleasantly, "it's your loss."

He tilted his head slightly and watched her retreating figure that was on its way back to the castle with its windows that shone of warmth. When the first, heavy, black raindrops hit his shoulders he wondered how it was possible that _he _felt like the dumped one.

::::::

The following months, they didn't speak once. Roxanne would cast him looks at odd occasions, but Lysander would bend down his head and refuse to look at her. But he could see her with his eyes closed—how she would smirk, how she would laugh at him, how she would hold the guy she was with at the moment closer.

He tried to shut these pictures out, but as soon as he let himself drift away, she would be there, haunting him, luring him and calling for him. And every time when he realized he was dreaming of dark red tangles, brown eyes, and tanned skin, he would curse himself. If it was a dream, he would lay awake for hours, not daring to go back to sleep, because if he did, she might return to him and this time not leave.

He had always felt scared in the dark.

:::::

"Hey, Lysander, can I sit here?" She stood in front of him and the voice she spoke with was softer than anything he had ever heard from her mouth.

"Why, yes," he answered before thinking, before realizing that this was probably not a good idea. But he moved a bit in the armchair and she sat down next to him, so close their legs touched, and it felt like a sting because he hadn't been this near her for four months.

"Tomorrow is my last day," she began, and it was as though she had already figured out what to say, because who started a conversation like that? Of course he knew that, that the summer holidays began tomorrow and that she wouldn't return next year. Because, yes, he had thought of it. Too many times.

"I know," he said as he nodded and was glad that the common room was so crowded with partying people, crying and laughing, that no one noticed them.

She suddenly turned her head quickly so her eyes looked straight into his. "Lysander, I know I have done wrong. I know I have treated you like shit." Her brown eyes were so sincere, so flaming but Lysander felt oddly clear in his mind for being this near Roxanne.

Again he nodded.

She shook her head and looked down at her hands. "Would you forgive me? Some day? I understand if you don't want to yet, but I don't want to lose you."

Lysander suddenly felt something pounding inside of him. "Have you told this to Tim and Scorpius, as well? And Jack?"

She looked up, glaring. He guessed he was about to receive a biting response, but after a second her face softened. "I haven't, I swear. But I see why you'd say so, and I'm sorry for that as well."

Lysander's jaw clenched. "Let's say I believe you. But why would you say you don't want to lose me, when you haven't had me for more than four months?"

"Because I miss what we once had," she answered right away, pulling one of her legs up and hugging the knee to her body.

Lysander swallowed. He did, too, of course, and all of his heart screamed at him to kiss her and make things return to normal, but then his brain told him in a very composed and responsible voice that he shouldn't trust her.

"Don't you?" she asked in a small voice. "Tell me truthfully that you don't."

Lysander stood up from the chair; he couldn't do this. He walked through the room, still no one noticing him and his burning cheeks, the screaming in his head and the way his breathing turned rushed. Out in the corridor he couldn't walk more than a few steps until he fell down against the wall. There he sat for some minutes, with closed eyes and his hands above them.

"What did I do wrong?" She was back again, red blooms on her cheeks, and Lysander narrowed his eyes. She had never run after him before. Never.

"It wasn't you," he said, still not removing his hands from his eyes. He could sense her sitting down next to him.

"What was it, then?"

"Me. Because I do miss you," he blurted out. Why was it so much easier talking to her when he didn't see her? "And I didn't want to say that, because if I did, I might have kissed you. And I didn't want to do that, because I don't know if it's worth anything. And now I'm rambling and I don't even know why." He laughed a bit, because this was all so stupid.

"It is worth something. For me, it is," she answered without even giggling. Lysander removed his hands, because whenever had she been able to hold a straight face?

"Is it really?" he asked. "It can't have been earlier, at least," he added, as an extra thought.

"I just didn't know it then."

"And now you do?"

"Yes," she said, biting her lower lip. "Yes, I do."

"But how do I know that?" All the laughter was wiped off Lysander's face, and inside him he felt a coldness that he had never felt before in her closeness. It used to be hot and warm, but now it was as though every emotion was gone, to make it easier for him to act and think.

"I don't know," she answered. "And that's my fault. I understand that you won't, that you can't trust me, but the selfish part of me hopes that you will."

She stared at him and the coldness flooded through Lysander again. "You said it: I can't."

She closed her eyes for a second, as in pain, and then got up from the floor. "At least I tried," she mumbled and then she was gone in a heartbeat. Lysander still felt nothing; he was only freezing. He stayed out there for a while; the only thought that swirled around in his head was that it had been an oddly abrupt ending to their conversation.

Then he, too, got up, walked back into the common room, up the stairs and into his bed. He pulled the sheets closely around himself and shuttered for hours until he fall asleep, still with only that single thought in his mind.

::::

He awoke with a start. What had he done? What had he said to Roxanne? Why had he said that to her? The cold sweat in which he was bathing made the sheets stick to his body, and he rose from his bed. He cast a glance on the watch on his night stand; it was half past four in the morning.

When he went down the stairs to the common room without really knowing why, he was startled once again.

"Roxie? What are you doing here?" She sat in the same armchair they had been sharing earlier that night, her hair disheveled and huge bags under her eyes. "You look awful."

"Look who's talking," she said monotonously.

"Guess you're right," Lysander mumbled. "Hey, Roxie, forget what I said before."

"C'mon, Lys, you said it, and it was true. Don't trust me. I shouldn't be trusted by anyone." The fire that twirled in front of her reflected in her eyes and Lysander sat down on the armrest of the chair.

"But I want to. Because I believe in you and I want to trust you." Everything that his brain had told him before was gone; now his brain told him in a motherly way that he should trust his heart. And his brain also told him that he had to be rather tired if he thought his brain spoke "motherly" to him.

"You shouldn't." Roxanne's voice that sounded as though it was about to burst pulled him back from his thoughts and he suddenly smiled.

"But I will." He put a hand on her cheek and turned her head so he could catch her lips. And, Merlin, he had missed this feeling.

"You will? Really?" she whispered when they parted for a second.

"Yes."

:::

And maybe neither of them was really sure it would work and maybe both of them were so scared, so broken and afraid that it wouldn't be enough, that they couldn't give enough. And maybe that didn't matter because now was now and tomorrow could wait. Because tomorrow was the summer and everything was so much easier under a shining sun.


End file.
